“I know it’s not a ducal mansion,” Greer said, feeling as if he ought to keep apologizing for bringing his new wife to such a rundown spot, “but I think we can give it a bit of spit and polish, as you British say.”
Per his instructions, some of the house, such as the kitchen, one parlor, and the master bedroom, had already been thoroughly cleaned and prepared for their wedding stay. It wouldn’t be long as they intended to be in London for the festive Christmas season. But while in Scotland, he and Beatrice would have a place to eat and sleep, and, of course, a bathroom for his bride who, he’d learned, enjoyed soaking in a tub of vanilla-scented hot water.
One of his favorite activities was enjoying the smell of her bare skin directly afterward and, with kisses and such, tasting her as well.
Just then, a maid greeted them. “Mr. Carson, you’re back, and you’ve brought your bonnie bride. Welcome to Carsonbank. We’re all so glad you’re both here.”
“Thank you. I’m sorry, I’ve forgotten your name,” he said, assuming she was the one he’d met last time he’d been there.
“I’m Mrs. Dobbs. You promoted me to housekeeper,” she said, with a glint in her eyes, “so I took it upon myself to hire maids and a cook. You also have a single footman and my brother’s son would love to be your gardener.”
“Very good, Mrs. Dobbs. Thank you.”
Beatrice stuck out her hand, and the surprised housekeeper shook it. “I’m pleased to meet you. And this is Miss Sylvia.”
The housekeeper looked down at the grey fluff straining at the leash. “And a good-looking cat, she is. There may be a few stray mice for her to catch, if she’s willing.” Then she fixed Greer with her gaze. “But I haven’t seen a rat since you hired the catcher, and I’m most appreciative.” She nodded her thanks. “Would you like to take tea now, or have me give you a tour?”
“Neither, thank you,” Greer told her. “I’ll show the Honorable Mrs. Carson around.”
***
BEATRICE LOVED BEINGMrs. Carson. It still excited her every time she heard him say it.
“Very well,” Mrs. Dobbs agreed. “If you don’t need anything, I shall get back to my duties. I’ll get some hearths to blazing including in your bedchamber and the cozy sitting room next to it. And I’ll be pleased to introduce you to the rest of the staff at supper.”
When she left, Beatrice confessed, “I think I am even more grateful you hired a rat catcher than she is. In truth, my husband, it was the one thing I was worried about.” She had to refrain from shuddering at the thought of rats scurrying about the floor. “Now, if you please, I’m ready to see the painting.”
Greer took her farther into the house. “There’s an equally dark paneled parlor over there,” he gestured to a gaping room on the right as they passed. The doors were missing. “I think some paint and lamps will help make it inviting. Not to mention a cheerful fire, a bottle of wine, and some rose-colored glasses,” he added.
She squeezed his hand, still not bothered by the general shabbiness of the place. In the new year, when they returned, there would be plenty of time to set things right, to choose paint and wallpaper, and to air the whole house out.
“Back here, this must have been my great-grandfather’s study. Naturally, he hung the portrait of his son. And I believe there had to have been one of his other son, too, the elder who died after my grandfather moved to America, but I didn’t find it.”
He led her into the study, releasing her hand and crossing the room to the curtained windows. Hooking a thumb at the tattered remains of moth-eaten drapes, he quipped, “I can’t even tell what color these once were.” He drew them back to let in the afternoon light.
“That’s where the large hole was.” Greer pointed to the outside wall.
“The repairmen did a splendid job,” Beatrice remarked. Even the paneling had been seamlessly replaced, except for it being lighter than the rest.
Greer grimaced. “Like all the rooms, this one needs a woman’s touch.”
Beatrice silently agreed. It was dark and cold, as no fire had been laid in the hearth, and the endless paneling was starting to make her feel as if she were inside a wine cask.
“Nothing we can’t work on,” she said encouragingly.Spit and polish, as her husband had said.And lots of cheery redecorating!
Releasing Miss Sylvia, who scampered around the room and then under a sheet-covered piece of furniture, Beatrice took up a spot in front of the painting. Someone had draped a sheet over it to protect it, probably while the wall was being repaired. Carefully, Greer removed it.
Gazing at her husband’s grandfather’s likeness, she studied it a minute, thinking of the man who’d headed off to the untamed America. Silently, she thanked him.
“I can see where you get your distinctive looks.”
“Distinctive?” he repeated, looking at her. “Am I being insulted? Like the rhinoceros that was traded away?”
She smiled. “Distinctive as in appealing but uncommon. You are not like every pointy-nosed blue-blood. Like your grandfather, you’re rugged and assured.”
“That’s all right then. I will accept beingdistinctive.” He glanced back at the painting.
“You have his sandy-colored hair and gray-blue eyes, too,” she added. “I wonder if your grandfather had your lopsided smile.”
